One day of work turns into three. Bond finds himself walking out into the rainy streets of London. He makes it a few feet from the door when he has to stop and turn. He stares for a good moment before he realizes who he’s looking at. Silva grins at him and then puts the umbrella he’s holding over James’ head. Bond takes in the man in front of him once and then twice. Silva had dyed his hair dark brown, it’s still long but it’s fuller. He’s dyed his eyebrows brown too. He’s still wearing that damned Police outfit though. Most likely because he had to come so close to the main MI6 building. James finds it striking how different he looks. He should think that the difference in hair color and brow color would make him look softer. But instead Silva looks perhaps even deadlier. It’s off putting and terrifying, “Why the dye job?”

“Why James, you noticed. Why do you think? The answer is simple no?” Silva chuckled and then continued speaking.

Together they walk to the closest tube station, and Bond tries to deal with the fact that he’s actually somewhat happy to see Silva again. The mission had stranded him some place in Russia. It was supposed to be a snatch and grab, but it had some how turned into him running from a Russian cell, which had lead to a few tense hours. Hours where he wasn’t sure if he was going to make it out alive. He had not thought of Silva. But seeing him here now, it was as if a weight had been lifted. He was alive.

Silva snapped his hands in front of James’ face, “James, did you hear anything I said at all? You have been staring off into the distance like a kicked dog. Was Russia really that bad?”

He looked up at Silva, “You knew?”

Silva waved his hand, “I have my ways.” He grabbed Bond’s arm as James attempted to walk off to one of the trains, “Now where do you think you are going?”

“Home.” Bond told him.

Next to him Silva shook his head, “No, no James. I told you. You need to relax. Breathe. We are going to a café. You are going to get that frou-frou tea you like and then we will go home.”

He pulled him into the train that had just pulled up into their station. The two of them sat down, it was not rush hour so they did not have to worry for space. He put his now closed umbrella in his lap and reached down to stroke James’ leg. James didn’t have the strength to tell him to stop. He was exhausted, “You know sleep counts as relaxation.”

“Hardly my dear. Sleep is an escape. And you are not tired physically. A terrorist could come running through here and up you would jump and scurry after him.”

He wanted to argue that, but of course he could not. If he really did care, Silva would have been dead the moment James had knocked him unconscious. But no. Here he was and here Silva was, rushing off to a café to have, James didn’t want to call it a date. To have a quick lunch he supposed. His life was a mess and he knew that there was a chance this whole thing could end in ruin. But some small part of him didn’t care. For such a long time everything had been done for her, for Queen and Country. Just once he wanted something for himself. He had tried that once with Vesper, but could he not try again? Was he not allowed to try again? He did not think of Silva like he thought of Vesper of course. But he could not lie to himself that within the few short days the two of them had lived together, that something wasn’t there.

He sighed and Silva looked at him, “What is it James?”

“I was just thinking.” He told Silva.

“Are you going to share with the class or hold it to yourself darling?”

James didn’t say anything for a moment, “I think I missed you.”

Silva took that as his chance to being to pet James’s leg again, “Ah. Well, it was a bit dull without you around dear James.”